The conciliatory palm had curled into a fist; it pulsed with rage. "He asked for you."
"You're saying he officially requested that I work with him? That's why you've been so determined to believe I switched sides? Because of a request—and what we worked on together at Bragg?"
"Yes."
John glanced at her. "At the time, Webber and I were tasked with reviewing security contingencies and red teaming several that were already in place."
Oh, Jesus. She did not like where this was headed.
John nodded at the expression that he didn't need his new Rae-reading skills to discern, because she wasn't hiding it. "Yep. The contingencies we red teamed involved Embassy Islamabad." John pushed his focus back to Riyad. "Webber's sandbox-playmate preferences are news to me. I never met the man before I walked into that office, and we definitely weren't buddies after. You've been tracking the son of a bitch for a while now. Do you know where he was on September the second?"
"On leave."
That earned Riyad a sigh. One devoid of even John's extended patience. "Where?"
Riyad shrugged. "No idea. He was off the grid then, too. You really think Webber was in that parking lot, listening to the two of you go at it?"
"Why not? Someone was. I don't have a clue as to why he might've been there in the first place, but if it was Webber, the man got a damned good look at me at my lowest point. Might even explain why the bastard kept trying to get me to hit the bars and strip clubs with him off Bragg. I finally had to get in his face and tell him I wasn't into that shit. He just smirked. I assumed he'd seen all the crap the networks had spread across the evening news. Now I'm thinking he had a front row seat to it all."
John shot her an apologetic glance. If Riyad hadn't been there, she knew he'd have followed it up with more. Because of Webber's obsession with John, Durrani had been able to get to her. And that bothered John. A lot.
She shook her head, silently absolving him.
Not only was it not John's fault, they had bigger issues than some rogue SEAL observing her dirty laundry. Or some Afghan bastard of a doc trying to strangle her with the clothesline from which it had all been hung.
Gil was right. Durrani was dead. No matter how and where the man had accomplished that death, he'd lost.
Nor did it matter where Webber had been a year ago September. The traitor was here, in Islamabad, now. There was only one reason. Whatever was about to go down, it was going to happen in Pakistan, quite possibly in its capital city.
Regan stepped closer to the spook. "Tom Crier, Warren Jeffers—do either of the men know Webber?" Especially the latter, given the DCM's SEAL-worship tendencies.
"Both." Riyad glanced at John. "After you left Fort Bragg, Webber headed overseas to go through the results of the security review in person. He lily-padded through several countries here in the Near East, but first up were the consulates at Peshawar, Karachi and Lahore. He wrapped up the Pakistani leg of his trip right here in Islamabad. Crier and Jeffers had recently taken over their slots, so yeah, they knew each other. And there's something you should know about Jeffers—"
"He drools over your type." Regan shrugged. "I got a face full of his spewing veneration of you this afternoon. It wasn't pretty." Had smelled even less so.
To her surprise, the spook flushed. Something told her he was even less comfortable with the DCM's worship than she'd been.
Riyad nodded. "Exactly. So who knows what Jeffers has done—or would do for Webber?"
That could be a problem. "DSS Agent Scott Walburn and I go back to MP school. Scott's been in Islamabad working on a human trafficking case. He confided something in me today. Seems Mrs. Jeffers has noted secretive behavior in her husband of late. Midnight phone calls in the bath and angry comebacks when he was caught—enough to leave bruises on her arms. She thinks the man's having an affair. But—"
"Could be something else. Someone." Riyad.
"Agreed." Possibly, even Webber. She raised a brow as she glanced at John.
Damned if the man's Rae-dar wasn't becoming fully tuned, because he already knew what she was asking: his Abbottabad colonel's intel on Crier.
John nodded.
She turned to the spook. "Major Garrison's source has dirt on the political officer too. Tom Crier's definitely having an affair. It's with a local. His source doesn't know who, but evidence I found in Brandt's quarters, a conversation I had with the woman, along with changes in her recent social behavior, suggests it might be Aamer Sadat's wife. Mr. Sadat's a Pakistani Foreign Service National. He and his wife, Inaya, have an infant currently in intensive care at Shifa International. The boy's a diabetic and they're attempting to stabilize him. Scott and I stopped by, but I wasn't able to speak with the husband. The wife's a curiosity. I'm almost positive her son was fathered by a Caucasian, but I have no idea yet if it was Crier or Brandt."
Or if the baby was someone else's son entirely.
Hell, she couldn't even be sure if the kid's parentage pertained to their terror case. At least not without further digging.
People weren't perfect, even those who tried. That was why some investigations were so mind-numbingly difficult. Oftentimes, rooting through people's personal and professional lives caused so much hidden garbage to float to the surface, it could be difficult to figure out what, if any of it, was related to the case at hand.
Regan adjusted her right hand, tucking her fingers deeper into the crook of her crossed arms to conceal the stubborn trembling. "As for Mr. Sadat, he was sent to the Griffith with the diplomats."
Riyad nodded. "I read the summaries of those sessions on the ship. If Crier or Brandt is the father, the Pakistani prime minister is going to shit bricks. And they won't be used
